Angel's Share
by StarlightSorcerer
Summary: Phillip Price: his past and his present, his greatest triumph...and his greatest regret. A look inside the mind of E-Corp's CEO.
1. Part 1

**SPOILER WARNING: This story contains spoilers for the finale of season 3.  
**

**Part 1**

Many years ago, Phillip Price received the most valuable advice of his life. It had been given to him by this old man, a college professor nearing retirement. He didn't remember the man's name or really even his face, but he remembered what he told him. He said that there were two questions he must ask himself, and if he could answer them, he would find success in whatever he did in life. They were:

1\. What do you need to do?

2\. Who do you need to be?

The answer to the first he knew. What does he need to do? Whatever it takes.

When it came to the second question, however, he still had no answer.

* * *

"Time is essential. Let's not forget, everyone, we can't sleep on something like this."

Phillip tried his best to listen to the man speaking, but an irritating clicking noise distracted him and put him on edge. No longer able to ignore it, he turned with a huff to the person sitting next to him. He was always the most disrespectful person during these important meetings.

His friend Bertram was clicking his pen over and over. The idiot's sole focus seemed to be fiddling with the instrument, clicking it at various speeds. First, smashing it down with his thumb until his nail-bed turned white…then releasing the button and clicking it more rapidly.

Phillip's brows crumpled in aggravation. He fantasized about grabbing the pen and jamming it into his eye socket. His…_friend,_ if he even thought of him that way anymore, often exhibited asinine behavior. Phillip glared at him until he noticed him and looked up.

_Stop,_ Phillip mouthed.

Bertram stared at him blankly, his neck craned over the table. _Shoot me,_ he mouthed back. He made a gun out of his fingers and pretended to commit suicide with it. He appeared rather pleased with himself after that bit of "comedy."

Phillip watched him, unamused. Bertram possessed not even the smallest shred of discipline. He'd never seen him show any enthusiasm for his work. Who was this man? Why was he even here? Bertram had the attention span of a five-year-old and the attitude of one to match.

"Phillip?"

He whipped his head around. _He _had said his name: the man leading the meeting. The most important man in the room. That man stared into him with a dark, piercing gaze.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

Phillip's face burned. Out of the corner of his eye he saw every man in the room staring at him, as expectant as they were annoyed. Phillip shook his head. "N-no, sir," he replied, embarrassment replaced with anger at the sound of his small voice. The man gave a nod and continued on. Phillip relaxed, now that the attention was off him. However he was well aware it was something he ought to get used to. He needed to be more like the man before him, who was intimately familiar with being the center of attention.

Felix Flynn was a man quite a bit older than him, with perfectly smooth hair and black eyes and not too lacking in height, but all of that was unimportant. His appearance in no way made him remarkable. It was all in the way he carried himself. It was the way he spoke, not only what he said but the way he said it. He'd perfected it, whatever "it" was, and learned the secret to success.

Phillip took a quick glance at the men seated around the table. Like him they admired Flynn. They wanted to be like him, know what he knew. Mixed in with that admiration was a healthy dash of greed and envy. Felix Flynn wasn't going to be around forever. Phillip and the others were desperate to take his place as soon as they could. They craved it—the stature, the power. They were like starved dogs watching a steak dangling just out of reach.

Everyone at E-Corp discovered the unspoken truth eventually: to be successful is to be ruthless. Ignorant outsiders thought of ruthlessness as something negative. Phillip and his fellow employees knew better. It was no mystery why the outsiders felt the way they did: they had never been in a room with someone like Flynn. They had never seen what they could become.

Phillip had forgotten Flynn's exact title. He only knew the man was above him. But whatever rung Flynn occupied on the corporate ladder, Phillip would reach it.

Then he would surpass him.

* * *

Phillip took great care in pouring the amber-brown liquid into his favorite glass. Slowly he lifted it to his nose and breathed it in. He poured another glass and took it to his friend.

Across the room Terry Colby conversed with a man whose name Phillip could not remember. The man had dark hair and a stiff, anxious posture. Terry would probably describe him as a "beta." Though the man had not spoken since entering the room, Phillip recalled that he had a Swedish accent.

"You know what Sheldon asked me?" Terry said out of the corner of his mouth.

The Swede shook his head.

"He said, 'could we get, like, I donno, maybe some wine or something? I don't really like this strong stuff.'" Terry snorted in amusement. "I said, 'yeah, sure! Then maybe later we can help you find your balls!'" He chuckled.

The Swede's chuckle was so forced it was almost more cringe-worthy than what Terry had said.

Price handed the glass to Colby, who immediately stuck his nose into it. When he lifted his head again, he muttered, "You're spoiling the shit outta me." He sloshed the liquid around and examined it. "What'd you say it was again?"

"Macallan. Around forty years old."

Terry raised his eyebrows. "Well, _fuck._ It's worth it, but hey, don't break the bank, am I right?" He elbowed The Swede playfully and he responded by forcing out another chuckle and nodding vigorously in agreement.

Phillip effortlessly ignored the strange little man. "How does it taste?" he asked Colby.

Terry took a sip. "Mmm, yeah," he murmured dazedly. "So stiff it makes me stiff!" He chuckled and once again elbowed The Swede, who once again chuckled and nodded.

Phillip smirked in wry amusement. The Swede was an obvious kiss-ass trying to get ahead. Terry knew this and was messing with him to entertain himself.

Phillip picked up his glass. "A toast?" he proposed.

"Of course!" Terry scoffed. "Anyone who can beat Apple for even a fucking second deserves to be sucked off on the spot. But, hey, ya know—" He shrugged. "A toast will do."

Phillip swept his commanding gaze over the room. Immediately everyone fell silent. Besides Terry Colby and The Swede, there was a small group of higher-ups he knew well. Then there were a couple of promising newbies he'd decided he liked enough to invite: Sheldon, Iris, Emanuel, and Charlie. Everyone held their glasses at the ready. All of them sans Colby had been given cheaper Scotch. Phillip wasn't about to waste such a precious bottle on so many people.

Phillip thoughtfully fingered his Scotch glass. "This is a great accomplishment," he began. "We all know that, _but—" _He paused to draw special attention to his next words. "Let's not allow success to make us complacent." He raised his glass. "To hard work."

His audience repeated those words and sipped from their glasses.

Terry clicked his tongue. "Not the best toast I've ever heard."

Phillip ignored him and checked his watch. "We should be leaving soon," he informed Colby and The Swede.

"Yes, sir," The Swede replied dutifully.

Terry Colby gasped and leaned back from him with exaggerated astonishment. "He speaks! Where the hell are you from again? Europe?"

"Sweden."

"Right, that's what I said."

Phillip sipped his drink and watched the newbies converse. He recalled with pride and excitement the way they'd looked at him, the way they'd listened in rapt attention. It was the same attention he'd given to Flynn long ago.

Everything he had they wanted. Certainly they would spend a long time trying to attain the same power. He'd enjoy watching them scramble around trying to get it. He recalled with a certain fondness his many years of doing the same.

Phillip Price had fought the long, hard fight. He'd clawed his way up and surpassed so many who couldn't do it, couldn't put in the time and effort it took. It took absolutely everything to get here. Now everybody wanted to be where he stood.

That was how he knew he'd won.

* * *

After the meeting, everyone flocked to Flynn like moths to a flame. The peons crowded around him, battling for attention while attempting to hide their desperation.

Phillip hung back by the door, not wanting to be as annoyingly overeager as his coworkers. He'd speak with Flynn as soon as the frenzy died down. After some time the others began to leave for lunch. With the barricade between him and Flynn finally gone, Phillip saw his chance. But before he could take even one step towards him, Bertram stepped in front of him.

"The usual for lunch?" Bertram asked.

"Fine," Phillip spat. He tried to get around him, but he would not let him pass.

"Dude, you look, like, _hypnotized,"_ Bertram chuckled.

Phillip couldn't help but let out a small chuckle of his own. On rare occasions he could be entertained by his ridiculous comments.

"Why you even wanna talk to that guy?" Bertram hissed, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. "He is a _massive bore._ Also—" He took a quick glance around to make sure no one would overhear his next comment. "He's a freak, seriously. I get weird vibes off that guy."

"I'll be careful," Phillip assured him, hoping those were the magic words to make him disappear.

"He's a miserable fuck," Bertram went on in a whisper. "Have you seen him? I mean, come on!"

Phillip had no patience left for him. All of these ridiculous conjectures were a waste of time. Why was he even listening to Bertram? Phillip wished he had the balls to tell him to get lost. He was just some idiot sloth, sleep-walking through life.

At long last, Bertram gave a shrug and left. Phillip breathed a sigh of relief. With him out of the way, he noticed Flynn gathering papers from the table, drawing closer and closer to him every moment.

He and Flynn were the only ones in the room.

Flynn looked up at Phillip and smiled. Phillip froze. Felix Flynn was completely the opposite: perfectly calm, perfectly confident. Phillip attempted to compose himself and bring useful thoughts back into his now blank mind.

Flynn held out his hand. "Price, right?"

Phillip snapped to attention and gave him a firm handshake, just like he'd been taught. "Yes, Phillip Price," he replied. "If I, uhh, may say so, Mr. Flynn, you made some very good points today."

Flynn smiled politely and his eyebrows went up. "Really? What was it I said that stood out to you, specifically?"

Phillip's mind went blank with panic. He opened his mouth but no words came out. Flynn waited for a response, a smile frozen on his wrinkled face. Phillip hadn't the slightest clue what to say. He felt as small and pathetic as an ant.

Flynn broke the terrible silence with a chuckle. He dropped a heavy hand onto Phillip's shoulder. "Phil, we should have a chat," he said. "When are you free?"

Phillip thought for sure he was in trouble. But as he pushed through his panic enough to notice Flynn's mild expression, he realized that could not possibly be the case. "Any time," he replied unevenly.

"Tonight?"

"Absolutely," Phillip responded without hesitation.

"Wonderful." Flynn straightened the papers in his arm and headed out the door. "I'll see you in my office at six."

Phillip nodded. The door clunked shut. Phillip remained in the room, alone, his heart pounding.

_Don't fuck this up, _he told himself.

This was it. This was his chance to make an impression. This was only the first step, but a crucial one. He knew what he needed to do.

_Whatever it takes._

* * *

Phillip Price informed his driver of the meeting location, then promptly got in the backseat along with Terry Colby and The Swede. Colby never stopped talking. The Swede was the opposite.

Terry said barely anything about the imminent meeting; he was far more interested in what the three of them could do afterwards. Mostly he went through his mental Rolodex of strip clubs nearby. The Swede seemed uninterested. Only when Terry happened to glance in his direction did he force a smile. Phillip didn't acknowledge Colby when he acted this way. He'd learned it was best to stay quiet and let him run out of steam.

A few minutes later they'd reached their destination. Price and Colby got out of the car and entered the dull gray building. The Swede trailed behind quite a bit.

"Where we meeting this guy again?" Terry muttered.

They'd barely made it five steps into the building before they found who they were looking for. Phillip recognized him from the pictures on the company's website. He was a rather plain-looking man, with gray hair and a suit and glasses that Terry would most likely describe as "hipstery."

The man greeted them with a smile. "Good afternoon, gentlemen! How are you all doing?" He extended his hand to Price first.

Phillip smiled politely and gave him a firm handshake. "We're doing well. I hope Allsafe is worth the visit, Gideon."

He continued smiling, impressively unintimidated. "I'm sure it will be, Phillip," he replied smoothly. He shook hands with Colby next. "And you're Terry Colby, correct? I believe I saw your photo on the E-Corp website."

"Hey, you did your research!" Terry chuckled, tone halfway between friendly and condescending.

As Gideon turned to The Swede, his eyes seemed to light up with mild surprise, as though he'd just noticed him standing there. He held out his hand. "And you are?"

Phillip gently swatted his hand away. "That's not important right now. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Of course." Gideon gestured to the elevator bank. "Right this way."

They rode the elevator up quite a ways, then Gideon led them into an office filled with rows of computers. He explained what all the employees were up to.

Phillip listened and surveyed the room. His assessment was that it appeared to be a standard cybersecurity company. The CEO's spiel was cursory and uninteresting. At least Gideon Goddard was mildly entertaining. Phillip had had his run-ins with overly excited CEOs in the past, but this one actually seemed sincere. Or maybe he was just a good actor. Phillip wasn't interested in analyzing his personality any further though.

Gideon took them into a meeting room, where Terry immediately demanded a cup of coffee. Gideon sent his assistant out to get it. After that they at long last began to discuss business. Phillip and Gideon did most of the talking. Terry jumped in every now and then with a few valuable points and questions. The Swede hardly spoke a word. The meeting went well enough. Everything went as expected. Phillip felt the discussion nearing its end. He listened to Gideon while mulling over everything he'd learned thus far. He thought about Gideon, about Allsafe and

Then _she_ came in.

He heard Gideon say her name. _Angela._

Hadn't he known though, that she was here? Suddenly he seemed to recall coming by that knowledge at some point. Perhaps his subconscious had led him here? Some small part of him wanted that to be true, but most likely it wasn't.

She looked like her mother: long blond hair and big blue eyes and pale skin and…something beyond her appearance that defied description. If Phillip didn't know any better, he would have thought he was looking at a ghost. He felt as though he'd been transported to the distant past, though it was the distorted one he'd created for himself, a past where he was better.

In the present Terry Colby slid his mug towards her, and asked for some Sweet'N Low. Nothing he did surprised Phillip anymore. He wasn't one to throw the "M-word" around, but Colby was undeniably a misogynist. Any woman that came anywhere near him he needed to control. They only served about two or three purposes, as far as he was concerned. He'd never said as much, but he didn't need to.

Gideon told her she didn't have to do that.

She replied, "No, it's okay."

She didn't quite look at him. Why would she? She didn't know who he was. And she never would. Phillip couldn't stop looking at her. He saw Emily, but he saw _her _too. He saw _Angela: _a woman in her twenties, an employee of Allsafe Cybersecurity, someone who'd get Colby's coffee even though she didn't have to. She was a whole, real person.

She'd been somewhat unreal in a sense. He knew she was out there. But he'd never seen her. Over twenty years had passed and he'd never seen her. There had been moments, here and there throughout the years, when he'd thought of her. But he could only imagine her. As the years dragged on he thought of her less and less, until ultimately she ceased to exist.

Now here she was, right in front of him, finally real.


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

That night, after everyone had left, Phillip rode the elevator to the top floor. He shifted anxiously as he watched the numbers light up. He'd never been to the top floor. He'd never been in the building this late. There were too many "never-beens" happening, putting him on edge, so much so he didn't know how he'd even be able to speak to Flynn. He'd already been through two horribly embarrassing incidents that day. He couldn't bear another one.

_Pull yourself together!_ Phillip scolded himself.

Why did Flynn want to talk to him anyway? All he'd done recently was make a fool of himself.

He needed to walk into that office a different person. His mind once again returned to the second question. _Who do you need to be? _Who indeed. After all this time it still stumped him.

The elevator dinged, yanking him out of his thoughts. Phillip stepped cautiously out, looking to the right then the left. He found this floor just as desolate as the rest. Phillip had expected something a little fancier, but it looked more or less like every other floor. Perhaps he was simply missing something; half the lights had been turned off, and his anxiety gave him tunnel vision.

Soft yellow light poured from the office at the end of the hall, so much more welcoming than the cold, white fluorescent that drowned the rest of the building. That had to be Flynn's office. Phillip moved towards it, he the ship in a dark sea, and Flynn the lighthouse. He found the door open just enough for him to peek in. Inside he found the elegance he'd been expecting from the hallways. All the furniture—the desk, the small table holding a decanter, a chair—appeared to be antique, beautifully colored cherry wood with eye-catching carvings running down the legs. Underneath it all lay a carpet, which also appeared old but beautiful. The walls were painted a brownish color, giving the room a far more peaceful atmosphere than the stark white found elsewhere in the building.

In the center of the room Flynn sat at his desk, intensely focused on whatever it was he was writing. Phillip had been so taken with the room he hadn't even noticed him. He knocked delicately on the door and Flynn jerked his head up. He blinked at Phillip, his face unreadable.

"Oh, Phil," he muttered. "Come on in."

Phillip did as he said. Flynn continued writing. He didn't look at him. Phillip, not wanting to interrupt his work, stayed quiet and looked around the room some more. A painting opposite the window caught his eye. It was of a boat on the river.

"Hey, you like that?" Flynn had abandoned his work to admire the painting close-up.

"Yes," Phillip replied dutifully.

"This one's called_ Gray Weather, Grande Jatte_," Flynn murmured, enraptured by the image. "Painted by Georges Seurat in 1888. You're probably familiar with his work. He painted _A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte."_

Phillip nodded even though he had no idea what he was talking about.

"This was created using pointillism," Flynn explained. "Can you imagine the patience it would take to complete this work?" He shook his head in disbelief and wonder. "Amazing." He turned to Phillip and cracked a smile. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

Phillip had feared his anxiety was obvious. "Yes," he confessed with a quiet sigh.

"That's all right," Flynn chuckled. He crossed the room and peered out the window. "I know it's clichéd to say, but really, it's the truth: you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age." He lethargically motioned with his hand for Phillip to come closer, and he obeyed.

Phillip felt like a well-trained dog, but he thought perhaps that was what he needed to be for now.

"I've been watching you, just so you know," Flynn informed him. "You have the right mindset." He pointed insistently at him. "You're gonna go far."

Phillip's heart pounded in his chest and ears like a kettle drum. If Flynn said he would go far, than he most certainly would. Who would know better than someone of his stature?

Flynn's smile straightened into a tight, serious line. "Who's that person you're always hanging around? Bernie?"

"Bertram," Phillip corrected, not that he particularly cared that Flynn get his name right. Correcting him was just a reflex.

Flynn let out a humorless chuckle. "Right, right." He set his sharp, captivating stare on Phillip. "Lose him. He's going nowhere. He's only going to distract you. You don't need people like that in your life."

Phillip stared at him in amazement. He'd put his feelings to words. He realized then he needed to stop _feeling _and start _acting. _He'd known for a while that Bertram needed to go, he just didn't have the resolve to cut him out of his life. Now, finally, he did.

"Consider it done," Phillip replied.

Flynn smiled. "Good." He took a step forward and clasped Phillip's shoulders. "Would you like some advice?"

Phillip nodded.

"Never be ashamed of who you are. Ambition and perseverance are nothing to be ashamed of. I'm positive these are two values you hold dear, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Phillip answered.

"I'm sure you're well aware of the importance of hard work." Flynn paused to roll his eyes. "It's laughably simple, I know. But it will get you far. There's no misery in something so positive." He shot Phillip a pointed look. "You'll get there in time. Just keep at it. Be patient."

"Yes, sir," Phillip repeated.

Flynn tapped the cork of his decanter. "Let's drink, Phil."

Phillip stared at the liquid's amber glow on the glass. He pondered the second question yet again.

He nearly had an answer.

* * *

On the way back to E-Corp, Phillip Price informed Colby that he had chosen Allsafe. The Swede, whose name was Wellick, disagreed and gave his opinion on the situation. Phillip told him he did not want his input and left him outside to ponder what a fool he'd made of himself.

Phillip then promptly went to his office to drown himself in work. He didn't think about Allsafe the rest of the day, not even for a moment. He did not emerge until many hours later, when most of his employees had gone home for the night. He ran into Terry Colby in the breakroom. He wondered what he was doing there. He wondered what he himself was doing there. After completing his work he'd began wandering around the building aimlessly. He knew he should go home. In the past he'd gotten restless when there was no work to be done, though it rarely happened at the end of his day.

Terry jerked his head up, catching Phillip before he could slip out unnoticed. He smiled as he stuffed his cheeks full of some candy bar.

"Hey, honey," he mumbled through his food. "How was work?"

Phillip scoffed and crossed the room to the snack machines. He didn't want anything to eat, but he needed to look as though he was there with a purpose, and hadn't just wandered in there in a daze. Phillip frowned at the vending machines. Who would willingly eat this garbage? People like Terry Colby, who were full of garbage even when they didn't eat it.

Terry swallowed his food and coughed. "What're you still doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Phillip shot back.

Terry made a faint, amused noise. "So I was talking to Tyrell a few hours ago." He paused to peel back the wrapper on his candy bar and take another huge bite. "And, uhh—" He broke off with another cough. "And, uhh, we were just wondering about the Allsafe thing, ya know? We were just, uhh, wondering what you were thinking."

Phillip scowled. Who the fuck did he think he was suddenly? They could discuss things, sure, but ultimately, _he _would be the one to make the final call. Who were Colby and that little Swedish fuck to question him?

The Allsafe meeting was back in Phillip's mind, crowding out other, more important thoughts. He felt sick.

"So, uhh, what were you thinking?" Colby muttered in a sing-songy voice.

"The decision's been made," Phillip snapped. "I suggest you _let it go." _At long last, Colby took the hint and went quiet. Phillip stifled a sigh of relief and checked his watch. He really had to be heading home. He left the vending machine with nothing, which made Terry throw his arms up in shock and confusion.

"No snacks?" he said.

"No cash," Phillip replied quickly. Which was true; he never carried cash.

Phillip's mind began to wander back to better things. Finally he felt more like himself again.

Terry Colby heaved himself out of his seat with a tired grunt and intercepted Phillip on his way to the door. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay?" he said. He crumpled up his candy wrapper and tossed it over his shoulder. He missed the garbage can by a country mile. "It's up to you, I know that. Just hoped I could get a little more, uhh, insight into the, umm, decision-making process that you…employ." He gave a tight smile and slapped Phillip's arm.

Phillip forced a miniscule, polite smile. He knew he didn't mean a word he said. Terry had an unfounded fear of being reprimanded for his earlier comments. As if Phillip had the time and energy for something as trivial as that.

"I understand completely," Phillip replied, a smile still plastered on his face.

Terry chuckled. "So I was joking around with Tyrell, and uhh…I said you probably just chose Allsafe 'cause of that cute little blond girl."

Phillip could no longer fake a smile. He steeled himself for whatever was coming next.

Terry sighed contently and fiddled with his tie, his eyes glistening with some memory or fantasy. "I know I'm projecting. She was just so—_fuck,_ I donno." He breathed out slowly. "There's just something about young girls, umm—_adults,_ I mean." He let out a nervous chuckle. "Not young but young_er, _I mean."

Phillip couldn't look at him. There had been several other times when Colby had felt the need to explain himself when it came to this topic. He sure got oddly defensive in a hurry. Colby put up so many red flags so often Phillip had lost count of them all.

Terry nodded thoughtfully. He murmured, "Just feels different, ya know?"

Phillip felt nauseous. Of course he didn't know.

"Probably see her again," Terry went on. "I mean, probably, right?" He cleared his throat. "I'd really like to, uhh…Just need to get her off my mind, ya know?"

Phillip knew what that was code for. His face burned with rage. _You touch her and you'll be out on your ass before you can blink._ He knew he couldn't follow through on that threat, but it made him feel better to think it. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. "Whatever you do in your spare time is none of my business," he replied coolly.

"Too true," Terry said. "All right, man. I gotta get going. See you in the A.M." He gave a salute as he backed out the door.

Phillip stood there for several moments, enjoying the silence. Why had he even stayed in that room and listened to him? Perhaps Colby was like a train crash: too horrible to turn away from. After that exchange he was beyond exhausted.

He was sick of Colby, sick of himself, sick of trying to keep himself together.

Phillip Price made the trek through the labyrinthine hallways and rode the elevator all the way to the top. He went into his office and retrieved his treasured bottle from its shelf. He poured a glass and set it delicately on his desk. He looked at the bottle.

What a long time it had been. So many moments he'd missed. So many moments he knew nothing about.

His hand hurt. He opened his palm and the remains of the bottle neck hit the carpet soundlessly. Tinier bits clung to his skin, blood oozing around them. On his desk the brown liquid blended with the wood. Large, sharp chunks of the bottle sat atop it. Phillip didn't want to think too much about what he'd just done.

In the bathroom he turned on the water full blast and stuck his hands under the faucet's torrent. The white sink reddened and several flecks of glass fell into the drain. He pulled at the more stubborn slivers with his good hand, cutting up his fingertips in the process. He got the bleeding to stop, but his hands still stung.

Back in his office, he sat at his desk and drank the last of his Scotch.

Did he regret anything?

Yes. But the worst part was he knew that even though he felt regret, he would never feel it strongly enough. Because that was who he was. Because he could not be ashamed, because he'd worked hard, and done everything to achieve what he wanted. He'd done what he'd set out to do.

And that was the end of his story.

* * *

Flynn filled two glasses and handed one to Phillip. "Have you ever drank Scotch before?" he asked.

"I haven't," Phillip told him.

Flynn sloshed the drink around then lifted it to his nose. "This one has to be my favorite. Very sweet, fruity scent. Long, warm, somewhat spicy finish."

Phillip sniffed his drink. He had a feeling he was missing something. Even if he knew the taste well, he doubted he could describe it quite so eloquently.

Flynn glanced between him and the Scotch. "I can tell you're lost," he said lightly.

"A little," Phillip admitted.

Flynn drummed his fingers on the glass, looking thoughtful. "There's a sort of art to all this. You're not going to be able to learn everything in one night. I'm assuming you don't know about the angel's share?"

Phillip shook his head.

"Well, Scotch, like this lovely old bottle here, is aged in a barrel. You know that at least, right? Anyway, some of the Scotch evaporates throughout the process. The drink floats up to the heavens for the angels to drink. The name is very silly, I know. But the whole thing's pretty interesting, don't you think?" Flynn examined the drink. "The longer the Scotch ages, the more the angels get to drink," he chuckled. "But that just makes whatever's left all the more valuable." He raised his glass.

Phillip raised his own. His heart was so full he thought it'd burst. After this long day, he finally had an answer. The answer was so simple. Who did he need to be? The answer was nearly always different, depending on the context. Really, he needed to be whoever the situation called for.

_Whoever I need to be. _

"To a good future!" Flynn declared.

Phillip repeated those words. Then they clinked their glasses together and drank. And though it was such a simple, perhaps even silly toast, in that moment Phillip truly believed the future would be good.


End file.
